Blue Rain
by lillelouis
Summary: Susan's fate in the wake of her siblings' deaths. Tie-in with Lirenel's "Blue Heart". If you haven't read hers first, do! Seriously: Go... Shoo.  Minor revisions


**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I realize some might disagree with my interpretation of The Chronicles of Narnia, but they remain the same nevertheless. As I am essentially building upon another story, I'd like to give credit where credit is due. I'm not only playing in one strange sandbox. I am in fact playing in two:

The first is that created by C. S. Lewis. A sandbox also known as "Narnia".

The second is that belonging to the lovely and talented Lirenel. It is a tie-in with a story of hers called "Blue Heart". If you haven't read her stories – DO! They're a better waste of time than anything ever invented, written, filmed or reenacted. Worth every second it took to read through the luscious list. Seriously: Go. But please leave a little review at the end so I know if you liked my story

Enjoy.

* * *

Blue Rain

The rain pelted the sturdy windows. It had rained for exactly three and a half days. The drops thrummed against the glass and held the intense stare of the only conscious occupant of the room. At the foot of a cold hospital bed sat a young boy and watched the rain fall. His gaze slowly turned to his sleeping grandmother with a soft sigh. A machine beeped in rhythm with her heartbeats and the never ending rain. This boy, who looked so much like the great uncle he never knew, watched over her with dark eyes. "How's Nana Susan doing, sweetheart?" A tall and fair woman carded her slender fingers through the young boy's thick, black hair.

"Still sleeping." He rubbed tiredly at his eyes and turned to look at his mother. "Will she ever wake up, mum?"

The mother sat by her son on the foot of the bed. "Probably not, William." Her face saddened at the thought of her son losing such a highly respected and beloved member of their family. His grandmother. Her own mother. The woman who'd had her and her and her siblings so late in life, and yet guided them through the obstacles it had to offer.

"Is she gonna go into the ground like grandpa?"

"Yeah. She's gonna meet him in heaven, love." The tall woman smiled.

"Will I see her someday?" the young boy asked in innocence.

A frown wrinkled her features. For how to tell her only son that it wouldn't be until death claimed him, he'd see her again? "Not for a long time, sweetheart."

He pouted; too young to understand the finality of death and yet old enough to bear the loss with a heavy heart. "I wish she didn't have to go." His round eyes spurred his mother to send a silent prayer to whoever might be listening. "Who's gonna tell me her fairytales?"

His mother pulled him against her and wriggled to get comfortable in the bed. "I can tell you one if you like?"

The boy smiled slowly as if feeling guilty for allowing another to take on the mantel of Storyteller. A mantel Nana Susan had born so well all through parenthood and grandparenthood. The master storyteller of the family. He nodded finally, settling into his mother's side.

"Which one would you like?"

The boy scrunched his forehead in thought. "How about the one where Queen Sarah was reunited with her brothers and sister after they'd been off to defend Narnia against giants?" He looked up with hope in his dark eyes. He knew how his mother felt about Nana Susan's fairytales. Stories of Narnia and its magical creatures were frowned upon by the adults. All except Nana.

Seeing the look that had cloaked her son, she complied. She knew the story he spoke of. She had been quite the storyteller as well when she was younger. Then adulthood took over and she'd no longer had time for childish fantasies. But now, it seemed Time had risen and bit itself in the tail. Perhaps it was her turn to tell stories? She was the oldest of her siblings, after all. The last one to get married and have children.

His mother pressed her mouth into a thin line, but surrendered to the look in her son's eyes. The look that her great uncle, had she ever met him, would've smirked at. "Alright," She settled deeper into the bed and hoped her mother was not so far gone she wouldn't hear the story. She hoped her mother would rest easy, knowing her stories wouldn't be forgotten in death. "Queen Sarah saw her siblings riding across the field as they cleared the forest..."

* * *

Stars had aligned, news had arrived of her siblings' defeat over the Ettins. An Eagle brought the news swiftly to the Cair. With the remainder of her army at her back, Queen Susan had ventured out to greet her brothers and sister upon their return. As she sat anxiously atop her horse and watched three familiar shapes lumbering out of the forest, she felt as though a great weight had been lifted. One she had barely noticed before it so suddenly vanished. _They're safe_. Behind them, their army trotted out from the forest as quietly as hers had. The enemy had been slain with minimal casualties and as one army returned, another rode out to greet them.

With a quick glance at her general, she took off across the field. Her smile was mirrored by that on her youngest brother's, pale face. Before her horse could completely stop, she jumped off and ran to greet the returned heroes. Edmund was the first to run to her arms. His warm body pressed against hers made every one of her nerves tingle. _They're home_. Her family was safe. Their army paused in respect of their young sovereigns. She could feel every set of eyes on them as her two remaining siblings lent their arms to the embrace. Her smile grew and she could barely contain the euphoria that bubbled in her. _I'm home_. At last, finally, she was home.

_Oh, thank Aslan! Thank you, thank you, thank you!_ Her hands fisted around soft shirts and worn armor. Warm breaths echoed against her neck. Heartbeats lulled her to ease once again. Fingertips carded over her spine in soothing rhythm. After a moment she leaned back to survey her three siblings. "I've missed you..." Her voice was but a whisper, but their proximity allowed for them all to hear it clearly. They smiled, as relieved as she was, to finally be home. "It feels like you've been gone a lifetime." Her hands gently caressed Edmund's pale neck and Lucy's dimpled cheeks.

A flicker of confusion blew over her siblings' faces, but turned so quickly to understanding and empathy that she hardly noticed. "We were not the ones missing, dear sister." Peter said softly and allowed his own hand to rest on the side of her face.

"It's _your_ return that has anxiously been expected, good my Queen." Edmund said through a smirk.

Susan allowed her confusion to show as she took in the appearance of her siblings. "But the Northern Border-"

"Was long since resolved." Peter explained quietly, almost as if the news would startle her. "We were not the ones fighting, Susan. _You_ were." His eyes looked so much like the clear northern sky that she found it hard to swallow. Edmund looked so young again. Sixteen. Seventeen tops. And Lucy. Such life and light surrounded her. Much like Aslan himself, she seemed to not only reflect light, but sparkle on her own accord.

"I don't understand..." Her hands slowly released their precious grasp.

Lucy smiled. "It's alright." A short giggle. "You will soon. We promise."

"How do you feel, sister?" Edmund asked and reached out for her, as did his brother.

"Relieved. _Alive_," was all the Gentle Queen could think to say. She felt like she was breathing for the first time in ages. She felt at ease and yet as if she was missing something. "Where have I been all this time?" Memories of the Cair flickered and were replaced with something much darker. A hard life. A shadow life. It not her siblings, then could it have been _she_ that was missing? The memory eluded her.

"With your family," Peter calmly explained. His expressive eyes rounded in compassion when hers saddened.

"We didn't understand at first. We thought you left us." Lucy explained. She looked the perfect image of a shameful child.

_Shame_. Such a misplaced feeling to be burdened with in a place such as Narnia.

"You all left _me_, didn't you?" The oldest Pevensie sister's voice quivered as tears gathered in her crystalline eyes at resurfacing memories. "You left and I had to start all over."

"And you did!" Lucy said triumphantly. "You've created such a wonderful family, Susan." Her soft hands caressed the tears from Susan's cheek.

"They're waiting for you to say goodbye," Edmund said with a nod to the open field behind her.

She turned, still in the loving embrace of her siblings, and stared at the people gathered in the tall grass. Not Centaurs and Great Cats as before. Not Fauns or Dryads. Now she saw a very different family. One she distantly recognized. "_I_ am to...say goodbye?" She glanced back at her older brother quickly.

He nodded and graced her with another of his gilded smiles. Smiles that always reminded her of the sun. The Narnian sun. Aslan. She turned more fully and allowed her siblings' hands to slide off. Her steps seemed infinitely light. Not a blade of grass bowed under her sandaled feet. The two armies and her three siblings were all looking at her expectantly. Just as the distinctly British family - looking horribly out of place in the tall grass - was watching her.

She recognized her oldest daughter and son in law. Both fair-haired and yet with a son who looked so much like Edmund. "It feels like _they're_ the fairytale," She mumbled into the wind, not seeing her siblings' empathizing expressions and sad smiles.

She recognized her two, grown sons, both with wives and children of their own. A smile, more radiant than the sun, split her face. She remembered clearly now. She remembered the grief of losing her siblings and parents. Her friends and loved ones. She remembered the guilt for not being there and the pain of spending each following day alone. Forging onward and somehow falling in love. How she had, for so long denied the existence of Narnia. She remembered growing older and once again believing in the world inside the Wardrobe. About telling fairytales to her three children. How her gorgeous daughter and handsome sons all forgot about the stories of Narnia and of a talking Lion.

Her eyes caught those of William, her youngest grandson, son of her oldest daughter and spitting image of Edmund. A tear fell from her face. _Grandchildren_. She had lived to see grandchildren. A sob tore from her chest. Her hands went to embrace herself as feelings overtook her. Her children and grandchildren had all grown up, listening to crazy stories from their senile mother and grandmother. Grown up to believe in them.

She suddenly realized the gift Aslan had bestowed upon her. How her siblings' deaths had allowed for all of this to happen. For truly, had it not been for Susan's loss, she never would have sought comfort in an unlikely friend. Much less fallen in love. She never would have experienced the joy her beautiful daughter gave her. Or how her two sons could make her laugh.

William smiled and reminded her instantly of Edmund. She smiled back. Not tired or sad. But a smile full of grace. Of joy and victory. For she had managed a truly breathtaking feat. She had brought a loving family into a world, scarred in the wake of a wrathful war. A family that would continue her legacy through time. For, looking down at William, she knew the stories he would tell his _own_ children and grandchildren someday. And she suddenly realized: She and her siblings were never spirited from England to save Narnia. They had been brought to Narnia to save _England_. To let their own little lights rekindle hope in the wake of a war.

Love filled her to the brim. Aslan never cared more for Narnia than England. If anything he cared for England more. He knew that her dark home was so desperately in need of kings and queens disguised as children. Grandchildren of powerful monarchs, raised to believe in Narnian ideals. Honorable ideals. They were all returned home to keep telling stories. Stories of a magical land. A land of adventure and heroism. Of unimaginable beauty and power. William, she realized, would someday whisper to his own grandchildren, in a hushed voice, of the magical Wardrobe that once stood in a mansion.

And one day, perhaps when her old world needed it the most, one of those grandchildren would find their own Wardrobe and they themselves stumble into a fairytale. And they would _know_. They would feel all Susan had and more. They would truly live and bring their light back with them. This was her blessing, she realized.

The time she had been given, where her siblings Edmund, Peter and Lucy, had not. Time to raise children who could all one day, should someone need them to, return. For there to be a child brave enough to walk through an unlikely doorway and take a leap of faith into Narnia.

_Aslan, bless them_.

With a departing smile, she turned and found her brothers and sister waiting patiently. They smiled as brilliantly as she, just then. Like everything had worked out just as intended. A low hum vibrated through her chest and she knew the great Lion was with them. Feeling at ease, she let one foot step in front of the other and joined her queen and kings.

The sun shone then, just a little bit brighter and the wind blew just a little bit sweeter. Their hands grasped hers and pulled her with them into the thick, green forest. And with a single glance back, she vanished into complete quietness.

* * *

"I need a bloody doctor here!" a strong male voice hollered through sterile halls. Three doctors sprung across the linoleum floors with nurses on their heels.

"What happened?" one doctor demanded.

"We were just sitting with her and everything started beeping!" the new matriarch of the Pevensie Windmore clan cried.

The doctors and nurses rushed around the tiny, pale woman in the bed. The machines were making an incisive noise. The children of varying ages had all been sent outside. The eldest son held his little brother and his cousins closely. "Sir, I need you to step out of the way!" one of the doctors barked tersely at Charley Pevensie Windmore – Susan's eldest son, only outdone by his older sister.

"She started rambling about nonsense just before her heart gave out," another dark-haired man commented quietly – Susan's youngest. He was the gentlest of the three Windmore children. Thirty three and with a little girl of his own waiting outside. His young wife clutched his arm, painfully so, as she watched the team of medical personnel work on the woman she had come to love.

It seemed as if all the Pevensie Windmore's hovered around their matriarch and had done so their whole lives. Only the most noble of people were drawn to the strange beauty of the dying woman. Beginning with Susan's long dead husband and ending with her four grandchildren. Susan had been like a force of nature. Drawn in the people closest to her with unwavering faith and love for life.

Tears broke from blue, brown and green eyes, as three grown children and their spouses, watched their mother quietly slip away. The machines were silenced and nurses cleared out. Time slowed to a dull throb. The three Windmore's clutched their loved ones close and cried dearly.

Their children, all waiting in the hall, looked towards the open doors with wide eyes. The two eldest children cried, realizing what they had lost.

But the two youngest – a boy and a girl – glanced at each other, when suddenly a sight caught their eyes. A brilliant sun had risen after the heavy rainfalls. Rainfalls which had lasted nearly as long as Nana Susan had been sick. The two children did not yet know of the possibilities in their future, but simply held each others' hands and shared a quick smile. They felt it as a deep rumble in their chests, that everything would be alright.

As the Pevensie Windmore clan exited the Deerborn Hospital in Queensbury, the two youngest paused behind their relatives, just outside the large sliding doors, and looked to the heavens. Brilliant smiles lit up their faces as their eyes traveled farther up and into a clear, blue sky.

The wind had dulled to a crisp breeze. Light clouds coated the sun in a soft, velvety glow. Almost like a lion's mane, the little boy and girl agreed. The wind smelled like apples.

The two cousins jolted forward when their respective mothers and fathers called for them. In consideration of their families, and because they knew no one would ever believe them, they tried to hide their smiles.

And when later, William's mother would ask why he couldn't stop smiling, all the answer he could give her was: "It finally stopped raining, mum." But even when his smile didn't falter he knew his joy was understood. Not so much by his relatives, but by something much, much greater. He felt safe and home in a way he never had before. As if Aslan himself was at his back, smiling.


End file.
